Raw Drip

My mother-in-law once put it best, “A child is born with the instinct to the kill themselves, and it’s your job as a parent to stop them.”  Sounds ’bout right to me.   

Whenever Dick and I talk about the prospect of a third child, I always secretly imagine having another boy.  Don’t get me wrong – I adore and love my children equally – really, I do (the dog is my favorite, truth be told).  But, I worry about Adam.  He’s prone to rash decision-making, gross underestimation of his physical capabilities, and a fascination with turning anything he finds into a shooting weapon.  He routinely exhausts himself running, kicking and jumping and then climbs to dizzying heights, leaping with abandon only to crash to the ground, injured.  Five minutes later he’s up and at it again.  Surely these are signs of someone who’s not long for this world.  So while he’s warm, sweet and utterly irreplaceable, I think it might be nice to have what I call a “back-up boy” – just another one waiting in the wings in case Adam succeeds in his mission to kill himself.

But, just when I’ve determined that the next child should be a boy, I waffle.  Having and raising Tabitha is wonderful.  Her gentle, quiet nature veils a brilliant mind that effortlessly grasps concepts far beyond her two years.  When I imagine another daughter in the house, I start to think how great it could be to have a house full of caring, bright women – my own sort of ”Little Women” clan at my feet – with me the wise and steady hand guiding them to greatness.  Besides, with the dog neutered and clearly loyal to me, another woman around the house means we’ll have majority rule when it comes to restaurant selection.   

But there’s a downside to all this female bonding - more women in the house equals more competition for resources such as clothing, food & jewelry.  I don’t get jewelry all that often from Dick so the thought of any competition for my supplies concerns me.  An even more serious downside of daughters would be the heartbreak of watching as they emotionally climb to dizzying heights and leap with their hearts, only to crash to the ground, injured.  Great physical leaps are foreign to me having been a reader, sketcher, couch-potato type all my life.  I think that’s why the “back-up boy” idea holds a certain allure.  Being a woman, I know what it’s like to scale emotional heights and make those leaps and the thought of being so close to all of the fear, guilt and self-doubt again is pretty terrifying.  Stopping my boys from climbing trees seems easy when compared to the prospect of stopping my girls from emotionally killing themselves.

***** 

As Dick was driving the kids home from daycare the other night, our 2-year old, Tabitha, muttered from the back seat, “I not kill you today” followed by spooky little girl laughter.  Creepy.  Later at home, Dick relayed her Bond villain statement to me saying how pleased he is with the quality childcare $2,000 a month buys these days. Daycare is a bit of a scapegoat.  The fact is a lot of parents might be worried about such disturbing utterances from a 2-year old, but Dick and I know that neither Tabitha’s threat/promise nor any of the questionable behavior our children exhibit has as much to do with the quality of daycare as it does with the viral nature of life, itself. 

Without ever seeing or talking about guns in our home, Adam builds them and plays “shooting” every chance he gets.  Instead of saying, “Where did we go wrong?”, we try to chalk it up to the fact that, somehow, they manage to pick this stuff up despite our best efforts.  So, my take on parenting is a little different than my mother-in-law’s since, as far as I can see, my job is to help them avoid injury and use the delay to prep them for the impacts I can’t help them avoid; it’s a stance that recognizes the futility in believing I can really stop them now that they’re on the loose. 

Ugh. It’s all too bittersweet for me.  Before we start working on a third kid, Dick and I should stop second-guessing ourselves and make peace with what seems to be our live and let live parenting style.  The fact that our boy practically kills himself to have fun while our daughter threatens to kill others to have fun is of little consequence when we are steadfast in our belief in the benefits of gentle guidance over iron rule in raising decent people.

Or maybe, we’ll just abandon the third kid idea and get another dog.  In fact the more I think about another dog, the more I like that idea.  I could use another mute player on my team – someone fiercely loyal and with no affinity for designer accessories.